"Guillaume!" she cried, facing him with the rich colour surging swiftly to her cheeks; but it had faded again, leaving them the paler by contrast, before he spoke.
"It is I, Diane."
"So I may well see for myself," she laughed, but the laugh flickered a little tremulously as her eyes fell before his.
"He is not dead," he said in a low, menacing tone; "what means it, Diane?"
"Means it?" she echoed vaguely. "What should it mean? Perchance the drug was less potent than Lefroi told thee, or Yvon too strong to succumb beneath its power."
"Thou knowest it is neither," he hissed. "Traitress and fool that thou art, but now Father Ambrose told me, with shrewd looks of suspicion, that the noble Sieur lay at the point of death, but that, since he had partaken of a draught given him by the lady, my sister, he had rallied in a manner truly miraculous."
She laughed merrily and stood there defying him, seeing that concealment of her act was useless.
"And the old man speaks truth," she cried gaily; "I have saved him—saved him! Ah! thanks be to the holy saints that I have done so!—saved him, Guillaume, my brother! And wherefore? askest thou. Why, because I love him—love him with all my heart and soul; because riches, greatness—all—would be nothing to me if he lay cold and silent in the grave. Dost thou not understand? Cannot thy cold heart learn what such love is?—what fires it kindles in the breast, what passion it arouses? Nay! I care little for thy anger—I love him, I tell thee."
"Fool!" he snarled, "and thrice times fool for thy pains! Dost think that I shall be balked by thy puling fancy, now, on the eve of all my plans' fulfilment? Love! ay, perchance I also know the flame that burns within, and which shall consume all else which stands as barrier to its fulfilment. But to compare my love with thine——!" He broke off with a scornful laugh, changing his tone to one of cold sarcasm.
"And so thou lovest him, this weak fool whom thou plottedst to destroy? Nay, blanch not, but picture to thyself how great will be his love to thee when he knoweth the truth! Picture to yourself his rage, his despair, his agony, when he learns that his sister perished in innocence, and the woman who dragged her to the stake, the woman whose arms clung around his neck, whose warm kisses were passed to his lips, whose siren tongue whispered of faith and devotion, was also the one to pour into the betrothal cup the deadly drops that should send the proud bridegroom to keep festival with Death!"